


Here We Lie With The Ghosts

by cosidrix



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, American Revolution, Angst, Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Reincarnation, Royalty, artist Patroclus, patroclus dies a few times (nothing graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosidrix/pseuds/cosidrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles godliness grants him immortality. Patroclus isn't as lucky. </p><p>[A rewrite of a reincarnation piece I posted on here months ago.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Lie With The Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Universe in which Achilles is immortal, Patroclus is not, and Achilles chases him through the lifetimes to love him.

When they first met, before even the gods knew how immaculate they would become, every fiber of Achilles’ being is aflame. It is as though there was a trail of gasoline that ran from his heart, down the ground, and past the crowd of people who adored him, ending at where Patroclus stood. Patroclus, exiled prince. Patroclus, mere mortal. Patroclus, the world. His skin, dark as dusk, radiates like the sun. Achilles has never known of want-- he is a prince, desires have always been readily met-- and yet, this is a different kind of want.

Bare bodies splash into rivers on Mount Pelion. He’s so beautiful in the afternoon sun, skin slick and shiny after swimming, a second star accompanying the one high in the sky. Achilles cannot tear his eyes away. Patroclus laughs, a melancholy sound no matter how hard he tries for it to not be.

_“Sometimes I think I know you.” Achilles’ face is golden in the glow of the fire between he and Patroclus. “_

_Don’t you?” Patroclus lifts an apple slice to his lips. “_

_I don’t think so.” Achilles rests his head against the wall. “I hope I get to someday.”_

_“We have a long time.” Patroclus cannot meet his eyes, instead focuses on slicing the fruit with his makeshift knife._

_Achilles smiles._

He knows he can never die, but he is convinced that perhaps, he may have tasted specks on heaven on Patroclus’ lips from when he was an angel. Achilles is boisterous, fast-paced, wild. Patroclus takes his hand, and brings him back down to earth with a touch. His wide grin is replaced with awe as he maps Patroclus’ face with his kisses each night when no one is around. __

_"Why do you do this?” Patroclus’ crooked smile is all Achilles can see as he stares down at him._

_"Do what?”_

_“_ _Kiss all over my skin.” Patroclus chuckles, a quiet, unearthly beautiful sound._

_“So if my brain ever forgets you, I know my lips never will.”_

Patroclus has as much power over Achilles as the gods. But with him, Achilles knows he is safe. He’d never hurt him, never play games like the gods. It is simple for so long.

And then it is not.

Achilles cradles his lover’s corpse in his arms. Screaming nothing but his name over and over. _Patroclus, Patroclus, my Patroclus._ The world, after that, is a pool of hatred. It teems in his bones, rushes through his veins like ichor. Memories of sweet words and soft touches slice him up from the inside. All is terror. He gave the gods everything, and they still took him away. And Achilles has never had anything taken from him before.

He begs the gods to hear him, begs them on bent knees to bring him back home, by his side, where he belongs. When they refuse, his desires change, and he begs to be killed. But still, they turn away, deem him too strong of a soldier to be wasted. He tears at himself, screams through the night until his throat is bloody and raw and the gods at the bottom of the sea turn over in their beds. If he cannot be granted love, he will take seething anger and despair instead. Somewhere along the way, he begins to forget humanity, he forgets how to be Achilles and becomes nothing more that the deities always wanted. _Aristos Achaion_.

If they want a killer, they will get a killer.

Decades pass, and every night Achilles pleads the same prayer. Bring him back. Bring him back. Bring him back. He tears down cities, dissolves towns as though it is all that knows-- and it is, now. He decides that he will make the whole world feel as he does. He decides to make his anguish so loud that the gods have no choice but to listen. When that doesn’t grant him the attention he seeks, he locks himself away for so long he almost forgets why he secluded himself in the first place. Almost. If only the memories would fade like the civilizations he watched rise and fall. He spends over a thousand years thoroughly alone, sparing other dark haired and sly-lipped boys who fall into his bed. He spends the beginning of the medieval ages searching for a way to kill himself, but never to any avail. No matter what he does, he is healed again in minutes.

Thetis worries for him, wishing that there was a trace of her son still left. She watches no matter where he roams, hoping someday his soul will return. Finally, exhaustion takes her. If Patroclus is what he needs to be as glorious as he was meant to be, then there must be a way. It takes years, but finally, she convinces the gods to bring the mortal back. There are rules for this sort of thing, of course. Once they’ve plucked his soul from the underworld, they can never reveal to Achilles where he will be reborn. However, if they really are the soulmates Thetis insists they are, Patroclus will find his way back.

Achilles takes this offering with grace, and that night, he begins his search. It’s a nearly impossible task, but sometimes, when his mind is weary and he must rest after months of endlessly looking, he swears he can feel Patroclus searching for him too.

It is 1561 in Northern Europe when Achilles finds him. He reigns as a prince again over a sizeable kingdom. Achilles is combing through the aisles of a market when someone taps him on the shoulder. He can’t stand being touched these days, so he flinches immediately. But when he turns to see who laid a hand on him, he freezes. He’s almost exactly like before. Wide, almost pitch black eyes, with skin nearly as dark. This time, his hair is a little shorter, the cowlick behind his ear still thankfully prominent, and there’s a little scar under his left eye. But besides that, nothing at all has changed. He seems to be the same age as he was when he died, but now, there is no mistake that he is full of life.

His voice nearly decimates Achilles as he asks, “Excuse me, sir, terribly sorry to bother you, but-- do I… do I happen to know you from somewhere? You look incredibly familiar, and I…”

Achilles blinks, unsure of what to say. Patroclus was always better with words than he, but he manages to stammer out, “P-Patroclus.”

A brief moment of silence overcomes the space between them as Patroclus looks on confusedly. Achilles feels as though every bone is his body is breaking, and though it takes a moment, realization washes over his face and Achilles’ heart skips a beat. Patroclus’ features soften and he whispers, “Achilles.”

Every syllable makes up for thousands of years of agony. It was all worth it just to be here, once again, so close to him that Achilles can smell his familiar scent and breathe him in. It feels like a dream, but the moment he wraps his arms around the awed demigod, Achilles knows that this emotion could not be something his mind created to torture him. It is too filling, too unlike the emptiness he has felt for too long. This is real. He is real.

“Come with me back to my castle,” Patroclus’ voice is hushed, he pulls the hood of his grey cloak further over his head. “No one can know I am the prince--”

“You are a prince?” Achilles’ eyes widen. Patroclus hushes him, “Quiet your voice, I’m not supposed to be out today. Follow me back home, come with me-- never leave my side again, I beg of you--”

“I swear,” Achilles eyes are brimming with tears. The moment they are alone, Achilles buries his hands into Patroclus’ dense curls, clutches him so tightly that he fears he may shatter, but still he stays there. He stays there as Achilles pours love over him, kisses him, holds him.

“I’ve waited for you.” Patroclus murmurs into his skin. Achilles braves an onslaught of tears, “I’ve missed you so much.” The words feel useless, unable to describe how he’s felt correctly. They’re not strong enough, their meanings too simple and human.

“I’ve had nothing without you.” Patroclus pulls away, studies his face and cradles it between his hands. “I love you. I have loved you for so long.” He is crying, and Achilles heart is leaping. The relief of having him back is enough to sustain him forever.

“ _Philtatos_ ,” His voice is brittle as he speaks the word he swears was made for Patroclus alone.

Patroclus can hardly get the word, “Forever,” out of his mouth before their lips crash together, and lights pours into both of their bodies like stars. Achilles prays he understand the significance of his words, the significance of how destroyed he was without his lover at his side. He prays he knows how deeply he’s missed him, how deeply he loves him. He prays Patroclus will still accept him, still love him back with the same fervor as before. He prays his soulmate will understand this, and all other things he promises to fix in this second chance they’ve been given. And of course he does, because he is Patroclus. And he is perfect.

Achilles is at his side from then on, the hidden golden lover, waiting just in the shadows. Patroclus excitedly tells Achilles all about his life, how he is to rule the kingdom someday, how when he does, their love will no longer be private. He tells Achilles that he dreamt of him, that he knew his birth name, Arthur, was wrong from the start. Achilles tells him what history got incorrect. He spares him the terrible details of his grief, of the innocent lives lost in wrath. Achilles is happy to hear he remembers so little of the interim between his first life and his second, just bits and pieces of what it felt like to be a raw soul. He explains that he found Briesis in the afterlife, and how he found comfort in her companionship. Achilles is happy to hear this, but still he wishes it had been him that Patroclus had spent those centuries with. He is full of magic, full of naivete, but it does not matter.

Until it does.

“Today is the day.” Patroclus says grandly. He is to be made king this afternoon, in front of thousands of villagers. He looks beautiful in his robes, and Achilles can only imagine how godlike he’ll soon look in his crown.

“That it is.” Achilles chuckles, “Are you nervous?”

Patroclus shakes his head, “No. I know they will accept me. Accept us.” Patroclus takes Achilles hands and kisses him. Achilles wants to ask what he means by that, but he is too swept up in Patroclus’ lips to remember to question it.

They are both mauled by the angry villagers when Patroclus reveals Achilles is his lover after he is crowned. The kingdom is left in ruins after Achilles slaughters every man, woman, and child who lived there.

He should have remembered to ask.

“How could they do this to me?” Achilles begs his mother at the deserted beach that knight. He is on his knees, his body is covered in the blood of the town he massacred, the sharp sand is digging into his skin uncomfortably but all he can feel is the fire clawing up his insides.

Thetis looks down at him haughtily. “He is marked, Achilles. He is a life that is not meant to be there, and fate knows that.”

“It is not enough time!” He screams, “You can’t take him away from me again!”

Thetis sighs, “Achilles, I cannot grant you the world--”

“I’m not asking for the world! I only need him!” He is seeing red, the world’s weight pressing down onto him.

“I will see to it that he is reborn again if you can end these tantrums. You are disgracing the gods.” She bites back.

Achilles takes a moment to steady himself, yet he still speaks through clenched teeth. “This is our endless cycle? For him to live and die and for me to search again and again so I can stay with him for that little time the gods see fit?”

“They could just not bring him back to you at all.” She raises an eyebrow.

And he cannot have that, so he leaves at once and begins to search again with fury in his heart. It takes too long to find him once more. Thetis says it is because there’s not enough bodies for all the souls being put out, but finally, he discovers him again in the American revolutionary war.

He sees him signing up for battle and so Achilles does too. He learns that he must say his name for Patroclus to remember all the lives before. Hesitantly, one night in their tent, he asks what happened to the kingdom after he died.

Achilles says, “I snuck away and went to find you again.” And looks away. He knows Patroclus doesn’t believe him, but he cannot have him thinking he is the monster he was born to be.

He loses his life in the unforgiving South Carolina heat before he has a chance to see the end of the war. Achilles does not attend the funeral, but simply leaves town.

1888 returns him in Manchester, England. He is a wonderful author, and some of his unpublished works mirror that of the lives they’ve lived before. They amuse Achilles to read. In each life he seems more and more beautiful.

1895 takes him again. Tuberculosis. Another funeral Achilles cannot bear to go to.

In the 1920’s, he is a doctor in Australia. His hair is clean cut and precise, and he has more freckles now than ever. Achilles leans over the counter of the front hospital desk and takes him in for a moment, hunched over and filling out paperwork in the exact same handwriting he’d adopted before. Achilles smiles and says, “Patroclus.”

His hand stops moving across the paper and he looks up with a wide smile, “Took you long enough.”

This life is wonderful. Achilles is wealthy these days, and so they travel the world together. Eiffel Tower, Great Wall of China, everything Patroclus could ever want and more. Achilles explains that their time together is limited, and he understands, so they make the most of it. Everything is wonderful and sweet, though they know it will end too quickly.

And it does, in 1931, when Patroclus loses his life to a mugging three blocks away from their home. Achilles does worse to them when he finds them.

And it all begins again. The agony, the chase, the emptiness.

When they are reunited in 1952, it’s already much too late. He’s withered away, a victim to polio in France. He’s skin and bones and cries when Achilles lays eyes on him. He wishes he could love properly, that he had more than a few weeks left. Achilles wishes there were more for him in this world. When Patroclus takes his hand, and Achilles can feel for thin and destroyed he is, he promises on their last night together that this will not be the last time. He dies in Achilles’ arms as the sun rises. Everything is painful and endless.

They spend the 1980’s together, living wildly and partying. He’s a fashion model in Italy, Achilles follows him with dreamy eyes. Patroclus doesn’t reveal that he has AIDS until it’s too late.

It takes until the winter of 2014 to find him again in New York. Patroclus reveals he died as a young boy previously, before Achilles had the time to find him. Brain cancer. He swears that when the hallucinations set in, all he ever saw were green eyes, the color of leaves in spring. He is an artist now, and he paints Achilles’ indefatigably. He spends Christmas with Patroclus’ family-- not the same ones he had in that very first life, thankfully, these ones are much kinder-- and he finds that Briesis has been reborn as his little sister. It’s a nice token from the gods, after all, Achilles feels as though they righteously owe them.

This life is incredible. They roam the city with their newfound family and reminisce about lives before. Achilles gives Briesis piggyback rides through Times Square, and aids Patroclus in his medical school studies. They laze in Patroclus’ brownstone late into the morning, the blurry light home on Patroclus’ face. This life is Achilles’ favorite thus far, though he’s never fancied the cold climate of New York. But it’s worth it. He is worth it. Yet every time they fall asleep, and Achilles wraps his arms around the body he’s had the pleasure of falling in love with time and time again, he can’t help but wonder when it will all come crashing down once more.


End file.
